


Men Like You

by PepperRiley



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse Themes, Angst, Comfort, F/M, Hurt, Smut, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 17:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperRiley/pseuds/PepperRiley





	Men Like You

            This morning was incredibly difficult and your wrists had the bruises to prove it. You’d found your father surrounded by a throne of empty beer bottles, passed out in his recliner, as you tried to tiptoe past the living room to go to school. Your floorboards betrayed you and an unforgiving creak stirred the beast. You heard him snort awake and you hurried your pace, wanting to avoid his hungover rage.

            He called your name and your blood ran cold, maybe he hadn’t seen you and you could still slink away unscathed. You heard bottles clink to the floor as you were slipping on your shoes. The struggle to tie the laces of your Converse with your shaking fingers held you back and he caught up with you as your hand closed around the front door handle. His grip tugged your wrist violently as he spun you to face him. “Where are you going?” he demanded, his breath hot with anger and stinking of stale beer.

            “School,” you said as evenly as possible, having no idea what would set him off this morning.

            “You look like a whore, go wash your face.” His grip had tightened and you winced under his imprinting touch. He released you with enough force that you tumbled backwards and caught yourself against the wall.

            “Yes, sir,” you muttered softly and slunk upstairs to the washroom.

            Your silent tears had already washed away your mascara by the time you’d reached the bathroom sink.

 

            Class would grant you temporary sanctuary. You liked to sit in the back corner and avoid socializing. You hadn’t been feeling too cheerful lately, now that your father had started drinking again.

            You let out a measured sigh as Billy Hargrove slid into his seat in front of you and turned to smile, usually he kept his eyes to the front, but of course he’d have to bother you today. He was easily your least favourite classmate. You’d seen what he’d done to Steve Harrington last year and he scared the shit out of you.

            “Can I ask you something?” he grinned, it was friendly, but you were weary.

            “You just did,” you didn’t suffer fools and you were certainly not in the mood to talk to someone that hit their feelings.

            He chuckled, his exhale earning a near undetectable grimace across his face. It hurt him to breathe. “Cute. No, I was wondering if I could copy your homework real quick?” He ran a hand through his hair and you noticed the cuts marring his knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. “I got really busy last night and forgot.” He had been busy defending his stepsister from his father’s unrelenting rage and he’d taken a kick in the ribs to keep her out of harm’s way.

            You didn’t have any fight in you today so you handed over your notes without a response. As you reached forward, the sleeve of your sweater rolled back and Billy saw a familiar sight. Your wrist was speckled with a mosaic of bruises in various stages of healing. The yellows, purples, and reds stained your skin and before he could stop himself, he grabbed your hand. It was a bad move; you didn’t like to be touched. You held your breath as his thumb delicately ran across the markings twisted into your skin. “Are you ok?” he asked, uncharacteristically soft.

            You yanked your hand away. “I’m fine,” you lied, wishing he’d never put his hands on you.

            The pain etched on your face told Billy more than anything you could ever say and he stewed for the rest of class.

           

            Billy caught up with you in the hallway after school. “Hey, do you need a ride home?”

            “I’m capable of taking the bus,” you replied, not bothering to look in his direction. Billy meant nothing to you and you intended to keep it that way. You were secretly furious that he was circling you. You didn’t deserve to spend your life as a magnet for abusive men and you needed this conversation to be over.

            “Yeah, I’m sure you are, but that isn’t what I asked.” He reached for you, but this time he stopped himself, recognizing the tell tale recoil in your body language. He had to let you take the lead.

            “No, thank you.” You shut your locker and met his eye, gifting him a forced smile.

            “Ok, well the offer stands if you change your mind tomorrow.” He left you with a warm, sympathetic smile and walked away, leaving you to your necessary boundaries.

           

            Billy was greeted that night to a shove against the door and a hole punched through the drywall, but he didn’t put up a fight. His ribs ached too much to stand up for himself and he cowered to his bedroom to chain smoke and worry.

            He’d been watching you all year, quiet, sweet, and impervious to his charm. Now he realized why you didn’t give him the time of day and why you always kept to the walls and never showed up at parties. His heart sunk at the thought of you going through nights too similar to his own.

            He nibbled his lip to try and keep the fire in his chest at bay. He hated this.

 

            The rest of the week you’d tried to avoid Billy, but he was around every corner with a soft look or an encouraging smile. When you settled into your seat on Friday you made a point to be reading in the hopes he wouldn’t try and talk to you. That morning had been unkind to you and every time you tasted the split in your lip, you felt your father’s rage.

            Billy’s heart sank when he took his spot in front of you and noticed the cut on your beautiful lips. Today he couldn’t bite his tongue and he snatched your book out of your hands. Instead of fear, it incurred your rage. “What the fuck, give that back right now,” you hissed.

            “I will if you come with me.” He offered you his hand. Class didn’t start for another ten minutes and you decided maybe you could have the chance to tell him off for good and if it worked he’d move seats. You slid your hand in his and he pulled you up.

            You followed Billy outside to the bleachers and huddled underneath them, away from prying eyes. He tapped a smoke out of the pack in his jacket and offered you one, you accepted and he lit yours first. He noticed you shiver in the frosty March air and he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around you and taking a moment to rub his hands up your arms to keep you toasty. “Thanks,” you muttered.

            You exhaled, enjoying the smoke billowing across your battered lips. Billy watched you intently, trying to find the most delicate way of asking you about your tumultuous home life. You misread his expression and narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t get any ideas, Hargrove. I don’t like you and I want you to leave me alone, alright?”

            “I get it.” He shrugged, perfectly aware of how people saw him. “You don’t have to like me, but on the off chance you need someone, I wanted to ask you if your old man knocks you around.”

            Your head started to spin and you wanted to puke. How dare he ask you that. How fucking dare Billy Hargrove, the most aggressive asshole in school, think it’s appropriate to make assumptions about your abusive home life. You flicked your cigarette to the ground and let the angry tears roll down your cheeks as you shrugged off his jacket and tossed it at him. “Get away from me, Billy.”

            He caught it and wrapped it around you once again, keeping you in place by holding onto the collar. He just had to get through his explanation and then you could leave. “I’m sorry, I know how that sounds.” You’d reacted exactly as he’d expected: defensive and afraid. He knew how that felt and he hoped he could bring you around. “But, I –uh- I don’t want you feel like you’re alone.”

            “Why the fuck would I turn to you?” you spat. You trembled with fury as you bit at the cut on your lip.

            He let go of the jacket, stepped back, and lifted his shirt. Your eyes fell on the fading bruises along his ribcage. “Because I get it.” He set his shirt down and held his hand out, palm up, letting you decide whether or not you’d want to take it. “And I know what it’s like to go through it by yourself.”

            Reality crashed down around you and your heart twisted itself into a yearning disaster. There was nothing you wanted more than a soft place to land and right now the only thing the universe had to offer was Billy as he was looking at you tenderly, offering you a place to break down. You suspected he needed you to hold him as much as you needed someone to talk to and your walls crumbled.

            You moved past his hand and collapsed against his chest, balling his shirt in your fists, and you sobbed. His hand glided up your back and cradled the back of your head. He pet your hair softly and whispered, “It’s alright. It’s okay.”

            He didn’t care that you were leaning against his bruises. He didn’t mind that it hurt; he’d take it if he could absolve you of an ounce of your own pain. This was Billy atoning for every punch he threw at someone else to keep his demons at bay.

            His bare chest was warm against your cheek and he smelled so good, not at all like liquor, the scent you’d grown to equate with a man. His arms gripped you tight and you had to remind yourself this was comfort, not a threat as you melted against him. You sniffed and let a gentle hand drift across his ribcage. You felt him stiffen and you looked up at him. “Your dad do this to you often?” you asked.

            “Yeah,” he admitted, bringing a gentle hand to your face and letting his thumb ghost your lips. “Your dad do this to you often?”

            “Too often.”

            He pressed a kiss to your forehead, trying to pour enough tenderness into his touch to make up for the pain you’d suffered. “Want me to kill him?”

            It was joke, but even the prospect of it made you feel better. You smiled up at him, for the first time appreciating his handsome face. He dropped his forehead and pressed it against yours. He let his nose brush softly against the tip of your own and he whispered, “let’s get out of here.”

            You spent the rest of the day curled up in the passenger seat of Billy’s Camaro as he did his best to make you smile. He’d picked you up a milkshake and told you about Tommy pissing himself on the basketball court at the last away game.

            “Oh my God!” you snorted, feeling embarrassed.

            Billy brayed at your snort and smiled at you. “Gross.”

            You punched him playfully on the arm. “You’re gross.”

            He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “And you’re cute. Even when you’re mad.”

            He pulled you across the seat, taking in your beautiful face for a moment, and then he pressed his lips to yours, effectively undoing the entire afternoon. You shoved him off and sat back, glowering at him. “Take me home, Billy.”

            “I’m sorry, I was-“

            “Trying to get in my pants.” You clipped your seatbelt. “Take me home.”

            He turned the engine over and pulled out of the lot. He wanted to defend himself, but the truth was, he did want to sleep with you. Billy was a wolf, but he’d been absolutely sincere with his intentions of comfort and understanding. He shouldn’t have kissed you and he didn’t know how to apologize, so instead you rode in silence.

            He pulled up at the end of the block as you requested, wanting to avoid any prying questions from your father about who you had gotten a lift from. He turned to you. “I’m really sorry, okay? I don’t want you to think that I give less of shit because I kissed you, alright?”

            “Fine,” your tone was curt, but he had been the closest thing you’d had to a friend all semester. Everyone else had abandoned you when you missed calls and skipped parties to help your mother secretly clean up the havoc your dad wreaked on your home.

            “Look, I won’t try it again,” he promised. “But can you call me if you need me to come get you? If things are bad I don’t want you alone in that house, okay?”

            Maybe no one else would have understood Billy’s immediate offer to protect someone he barely knew, but no one else was going through the same hell that the two of you lived every single day. You were battered and kindred spirits and he wouldn’t stand for the thought of you being knocked down by a monster hiding behind the guise of fatherhood.

            He held your gaze, his eyes were sincere. You reached across the seat and cupped his face, grateful for his misguided heroics. “I will.”

            He watched you disappear up the walk and he wished you a safe night in that house of horrors.

 

            That Saturday evening you’d gone over to a friend’s house, trying to repair your splintered friendship. Your guilt allowed them to twist your arm into accompanying them to a party at Tina’s. You hated being around drunk people, but you hated being isolated in your house even more, so you relented and followed Danielle up the walk to the thumping rager.

            She disappeared in the crowd immediately, leaving you looking for a spot to stake out as your own to watch the teenage wildlife.

            You found a place on the kitchen counter and kept to yourself, bobbing along to the beat when a song you liked would play.

            Billy wandered in from the backyard, having arrived fashionably late and he spotted you tucked next to a stack of red solo cups, chewing on your thumbnail. He leaned next to you and you smiled.

            “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He playfully bumped you with his shoulder.

            “Didn’t expect to be here.” You motioned to the ordeal before you. “This really isn’t my scene.”

            “Fun?”

            “People drinking.” You dropped your eyes, trying to push the images of your alcoholic father stumbling around your house from your mind.

            Billy let that wash over him and he squeezed your knee. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

            “It’s okay.” You lied, kicking your feet to the beat of the song and staring down at them.

            “Let’s leave, alright?” He lifted your chin and smiled at you, urging you to accept his invitation. “I gotta go take a leak, but I’ll be right back. You gonna be here?”

            “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

            He liked the way that sounded. He ruffled your hair before losing himself in the crowd en route to the bathroom. You told yourself not to like Billy, but your heart had already committed to being a traitor.

            While you waited for him to come back, a junior, Jake Lewis, sidled up beside you. “Decided to let loose?”

            You didn’t respond, he was obviously drunk with flop sweat beading along his hairline. He could barely hold your eye as he swayed to focus on your face.

            You hopped off the counter and moved to shuffle to the edge of the kitchen to keep an eye out for Billy, but Jake grabbed your wrist and pulled you to face him. “I was talking to you.”

            Your throat closed and your mouth went dry as he dug his fingers into your tender wrist.

            “I don’t want to talk to you.” You tugged your wrist free, but he’d cornered you against the counter.

            “We don’t have to talk, then,” he chuckled, grabbing your face. He moved to drop his mouth to yours when Billy grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him off of you. Billy didn’t have time to stop himself before his fist connected with Jake’s face, sending Jake crashing to the floor.

            Your breath hitched in your throat and tears brimmed up in your eyes. Billy turned to you and grabbed your upper arms, you flinched at his touch and he regretted his quick temper, immediately releasing you. “Are you okay?”

            “I have to go,” you peeped, tears spilling down your cheeks.

            “I’ll give you a ride. I haven’t drank anything.” He hoped the offer could undo the way you were looking at him. His heart broke to see terror in your eyes and the stinging along his knuckles was nothing compared to the pain searing into his chest. He watched you tremble as you weighed your options. “Please? I want you to get home safe.”

            He motioned for you to lead the way and you did as you were told, frightened to disagree and see what else he was capable of.

            Once inside his car he turned to you as you quietly wept. He wanted to reach for you, but he knew that would make matters worse. “I’m sorry,” was all he could mutter.

            Your quiet sobs quickly transformed into loud painful howling as you shook against the seat.

            “Can I hold you?” he pleaded, tiptoeing along your boundaries. “I swear I won’t hurt you.”

            You looked to him. “That’s what men like you do, Billy. You hurt.”

            _Men like you._ Men like your father. Men like his father. You didn’t use your fists, but you’d knocked the wind out of him.

            His lip quivered and he bit into it, holding it between his teeth, willing it into submission, but it was too late and he was already crying. “I’m-I’m not like that.” He’d said it to convince you, but it was himself that needed the reassurance.

            Billy had wrestled with his anger all year. He’d tried to grow from the man knocking the shit out of Steve on Joyce Byer’s floor, to the kind of man that protected his stepsister from lashes at the hands of the man that had taught him how to burn. He’d spent more time weeping for himself than he had defending himself over the last six months and he wished he could take back the crunch of bone he’d felt under his touch as Jake met his fist.

            He couldn’t ask you to forgive him because that’s what men like him did. Anything he said would feel insincere and you’d always be waiting for the next blow. So he cried. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and he wept.

            You watched his shoulders heave and every instinct that told you to run melted away. You were easy to hurt because you couldn’t watch anyone else suffer without throwing yourself in harm’s way. You crawled across the seat and reached for his face. Your delicate fingertips brushed his cheek and he turned to you. He sat back and held your palm to his face. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

            You crawled into his lap and he held you tight, rocking with you and crying into your hair. You nestled your face in the crook of his elbow and let yourself hurt for the both of you.

            Billy took you home and you were relieved to find neither of your parents there. They were likely at the bar, leaving you to yourself until at least two am.

            You picked up his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. The touch of your soft lips against his torn skin made his stomach flutter and he would have killed anyone for you. “Come on, I’ll clean these up.”

            He followed you into the house and up to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the tub as you knelt in front of him and pressed a cotton swab doused in rubbing alcohol to his cuts. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. You giggled. “Don’t be a baby.”

            He huffed. “I’m not a baby, that hurts.”

            “Well, that’s what you get for punching someone, isn’t it?” you said, matter-of-factly.

            He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

            You studied his knuckles. They were knotted and uneven. These hands had broken and been broken countless times. You tossed the cotton ball in the trash and moved to get up, but he brought his hand to your face, overwhelmed by your tenderness.

            “I know it means nothing, but I’m so fucking sorry.” His eyes were rimmed with heartache and regret. They were bloodshot from the howling he’d done while cradling you and praying you wouldn’t bolt.

            “I know.” You slipped from his touch and stood.

            He dropped his head into his hands and stared at his feet. He looked so small. “I’d never hurt you. I swear.” He dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at you. “I know you don’t believe me, but I fucking swear it.”

            You nibbled your lip, unsure how to proceed. You’d heard empty promises before and you knew better.

            Billy’s tears resumed, silently spilling down his raw cheeks, and he whispered, “I’m not my father.”

            He reached for you, begging for mercy, begging for acknowledgement. You stepped into his grip and he hugged your waist. “I have no right to ask you not give up on me, but please believe that I’m trying.”

            You ran your hands through his hair and pressed a forgiving kiss to the top of his head. “I can see that.”

            He looked up at you, never expecting to see someone looking at him like he was worth a damn and he stood. You’re absolution was the first kindness Billy had received since finding himself trapped in Hawkins to take the slings and arrows of everyone’s expectations forced on his reputation.

            “You’re an angel and I’m never going to let anything happen to you.” Your foolish heart believed him and you didn’t stop his lips from meeting yours this time.

            His kiss was timid and gentle; it was a promise he meant to keep. His hands found purchase cupping your face, tracing your jaw with his thumbs. He let you lead the way, only moving to deepen the kiss when your lips parted and invited him to explore your tongue with his own. He whimpered into it, pulling you closer, needing your touch and your forgiveness.

            In turn, you found asylum in his gentle caresses. You hadn’t felt a loving touch in so long you’d began to believe yourself unworthy of genuine affection.

            You led Billy to your bedroom, ready to let someone finally see you. He felt undeserving of your perfect body as you removed your dress and helped him out of his clothes. You lay down on the bed and he took you in, amazed with your breathtaking beauty. He took his time pressing gentle kisses up your stomach, stopping to focus his love and attention upon every bruise that dared mark your tender flesh. He lifted your wrist to his lips with the aims of erasing the painful memories etched into you skin, hoping his touch would be a worthy replacement.

            He pulled you on top of him and ran his fingers down your back, teaching his hands to use touch for love instead of fear, to create instead of destroy. “You’re so beautiful.”

            “So are you,” you whispered as you dropped your mouth to his neck and travelled down his tight stomach, curling a hand around his thick, ready girth. You licked the pre-cum from his tip, savouring the taste of him, letting the feeling of his stickiness replace the vitriol that had previously rolled over your tongue with former opinions. His fingers laced in your hair as you took him deep in your mouth.

            “Oh my God,” he seductively moaned. “You’re amazing.”

            Billy wasn’t the first man you’d let into your bed, but the others been invited to distract you from your harsh reality, Billy was here to transform it, to become part of a better one.

            He grabbed your arms and lifted you. “Let me make you feel good.”

            He set you down and moved between your legs, gently nibbling his way down your thigh. You’d had sex many times, but you’d never let anyone eat you out before. It was too intimate and no one else had ever slipped over your concrete walls until now.

            The second the tip of Billy’s tongue met your clit you were a goner. A strangled mew clawed its way up your throat as his tongue indulged in long, delicious licks against your eager core. He lapped at your entrance, revelling in your sweetness, thrilled to find how wet you were under his warm tongue. He slipped his tongue inside, exploring you before his cock would take its place inside of you. He could feel your walls clenching around the tip of his tongue as he teased you. He brought his thumb to your clit and rubbed tight circles around it to stir the fire in your belly.

            He could hear your breathing turning to desperate panting. He let his tongue take his thumb’s place and he slid two fingers inside of you to pulse his fingertips on your g-spot. He ghosted your clit, tickling it just enough to drive you crazy.

            “Billy, I’m gonna-I’m-“ you wanted to save your orgasm for his thick cock, but it was too late as his fingers curled into your core and summoned your nerve endings to snap and shoot electricity from your fingertips to your toes. You threw your head back and gasped as you shook against his misbehaving mouth and pulsated around his thick fingers. He didn’t relent as he licked your clit sloppily and hungrily. You twitched and clawed at the sheets, begging your body to never let this feeling end. He slid his fingers from inside your dripping core and licked up your wetness, proud of how much he’d made you spill.

            “You’re my new favourite flavour.” He winked as he kissed his way up your trembling body. He smiled down at you and you laughed, blushing and embarrassed.

            “Wow,” you breathed. “That was amazing.”

            “That was just the appetizer, baby.” He kissed you and you ran your tongue along his bottom lip, tasting yourself on his mouth. It excited you to be lingering on his pouty mouth.

            He took himself in his hand and rubbed his tip against your exhausted clit, massaging it into tight submission. You were ready to go again. “Can I fuck you?” he whispered.

            “Yes,” was your desperate reply as you urged your hips forward and spread your legs, blossoming for him.

            He slid himself inside, throwing his head back and moaning as your delicate walls expanded to accommodate his immaculate girth. His thrusts were slow and calculated. He hitched his hips every time he slid into the hilt, ensuring his tip would roll against your g-spot and his pelvis would rub against your clitoris. You weren’t surprised to discover Billy was even better at fucking than he was at fighting. You gripped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him as deep as possible, meeting his thrusts. His cock was enough to make you forget your emotional scars in this brief, tender coupling. Reality could wait, you deserved the pleasure he was stirring in your once battered shell.

            Filling you was Billy’s new religion and he intended to worship at your altar whenever you’d grant him the opportunity to atone for his sins. He would come to you to spill himself inside of your gracious core, whispering prayers that he could be a better man. That he could be everything you deserved.

            His release began to pool in his stomach watching your face wash with adoration. No one had ever looked at him this way. Billy had never made love before because no one had ever loved him before, but your eyes told him he was more than he’d believed himself to be.

            He dropped his mouth to yours to pour his heart into your throat. You could eat it if you wanted to. You could have everything. The kisses grew hungrier and deeper as your fingers tangled in his hair and locked his face to yours. You bucked up against him, chasing your release, and he acknowledged your wishes, by pressing himself deeper into you.

            “I want you to cum inside of me,” you whispered, for once asking someone to leave a part of themselves staining your body.

            “Whatever you want, baby.” You knew he’d meant it in every way. “Will you tell me I’m good?”

            Billy had never been so vulnerable and he’d never let anyone see his self-doubt, but he wanted everything to be different with you. He wanted you to have his ache as well as his love and he was never going to pretend with you.

            You brought a hand to his face and pet his cheek. “You’re so good, Billy.” You knew it wasn’t about the sex.

            A heartbreaking smile drifted across his lips and a tear hit your cheek as Billy collapsed to your chest to gift you with a handful of exquisite thrusts. His hips began to stutter as your core burst with pleasure, cascading another orgasm through your body. Your back arched into Billy and you saw God as your eyes fluttered shut. His mouth found yours and he whined against the kiss as your pulsating walls milked his cock. You gripped at his face, kissing him like it was the last thing you’d ever do as you slowly rocked against each other, riding your mutual orgasms for as long as possible.

            He rolled off of you and pulled you to his chest, he was naked and afraid, but he had enough bravery to gift you promise along with his heart. “I swear I can be good enough. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

            “I know, Billy.” You held a hand over his heart and let its panicked thumping comfort you. “You’re not your father.”

            That was the night Billy Hargrove fell in love with you and he’d spend forever showing you that you’d never known a man like him.


End file.
